


Safety Net

by Statementends (Blueberryshortcake)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Asexual Relationship, Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mr. Spider, Whump, asexual jon, warning: spiders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 13:36:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21119669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blueberryshortcake/pseuds/Statementends
Summary: Martin rescues Jon from a very bad situation and comforts him in the aftermath. Martin is there, it's all that he can do, and it's all that Jon needs.





	Safety Net

It was hard to see through the thick layers of cobweb and spider silk. Martin shivered as some of it brushed his cheek. He was adept at being quiet. He might have snorted at himself for that. Before he had been a bit meek, but he had always been so--large and noticeable. The awkward elephant in the room taking up too much space much to everyone’s (his mother’s) disapproval. 

It wasn’t like that now. Free or not the Lonely had touched him and that stealth, that blending in with his surroundings, that had stuck with him. 

He would never thank Peter Lukas for anything--except maybe this… just for this moment. 

His footsteps soundlessly stepped on what should be the creaking wood floor of the infamous house on Hilltop Road. He felt the sting of heat on his back, but willed a deep breath and let icy isolation blanket him. 

He did feel alone. And if he didn’t succeed he would keep being alone. He needed to hold this together. He pushed the thought of Jon out of his head. He’d be next to useless with the thought of his … his… anchor to the real world. 

A flight of stairs up. Sounds. Skittering and soft muffled whimpers. 

It felt like his body was on fire for a moment. Jon. That was Jon--

He exhaled a shaky breath. Detached himself. Kept moving.

It was the very last door on the right. He recoiled. 

Spiders everywhere. Webs thin and taut. 

Jon, wrists bleeding from wire thread hanging in the middle of the room, blind folded and gagged by web. Other than his wrists he looked unharmed, but the amount of blood on the floor and staining his shirt told a different story. He would have healed. God he would have healed. 

The floor creaked, but he didn’t care anymore. Jon’s head snapped up at the sound. A muffled protest. 

Martin caught him in his arms to ease the pressure off Jon’s thin wrists. The moment they touched Jon’s body untensed, a small muffled sob that Martin was sure was his own name barely audible over the moving spiders. He yanked the gag off first.

“It’s a trap. It has to be a trap. You need to--” 

“I don’t care if it’s a trap,” Martin said. “I’m getting you out of here. Oh God--what did she--”

“It--it wasn’t--it wasn’t Annabelle,” Jon stuttered. He took a deep breath. Martin took a knife to the thread holding Jon up and held him as he came down not letting him fall. Jon quickly pulled off the blindfold. His eyes teared up.

“Are you hurting anywhere?” Martin panicked about to check him over for open wounds.

“Just--just happy you’re here,” Jon admitted. He didn’t even pretend he could hold himself up properly. 

Martin took another breath and scooped Jon into his arms. He had meant it to be more of a kind, romantic gesture, but Jon gave a surprise flail and squawk. 

“I can walk!”

“Can you?”

“--I can--just give me a moment.”

“Do we have a moment?” He wasn’t trying to snap, and Jon might actually be able to answer that. 

“N-no, probably not.”

Jon wrapped his arms around his neck. 

“You’re quite strong.” Jon said, head buried against Martin’s shoulder, muffled again, embarrassed. Martin allowed himself a tiny smile at that. 

“I won’t tell,” Martin promised. He wasn’t really all that strong. He knew how to lift. Before the institute he had a go at moving furniture, but he had spent the last few years sitting all day. Jon was just so light. 

His grip tightened a little. The spiders didn’t seem to be trying anything. Just skittering around the room, some occasionally bursting into flame and curling into ash. 

“We’re going to go fast.” Martin decided. There was no way he could sneak back out when Jon was in his arms, hurting like this. There was no way to feel lonely when his everything needed him. “Hold on to me as hard as you can, alright?”

“Right,” Jon nodded. 

Martin started running. It was awkward and precarious. He didn’t want to drop Jon, or overbalance on the steps and break his own neck, but he seemed to need to push even harder on the way down through the webs that had been so easy to push aside before. His feet and back felt like they were on fire and he only hoped Jon was being shielded from it whether by the Eye or Martin’s own body. 

He counted down the steps--seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve! And they were on the main floor. Daylight streamed in from the dusty windows, but there was something large and shadowed blocking the door. Something that didn’t have the shape or movement of a human. 

“More,” It might have said. 

“Absolutely not,” Martin growled under his breath at the obstacle. Long arms seemed to spin in the shadows--legs. Spider legs. 

“Backdoor,” Jon whispered.

He made as if he was going to plow straight through and then jerked to the left. The back had been locked when he had checked it, but he’d be able to unlatch it on this side. He jogged through the long hall hearing skittering right behind them. They just needed to get out. If they got out they’d be alright. 

He was about to fumble for the lock still holding Jon.

“It’s open, go,” Jon urged. 

Martin twisted the handle and sure enough the door lurched open. He ran out, bright light hurting his eyes. He didn’t stop running and almost tripped into a bush. He finally turned his head back, eyes still sore with light, but with enough vision to see long legs pull the peeling orange door shut. 

“Fuck.” Martin huffed. He clung to Jon. Solid, real Jon. Jon clung to him back. 

“Are you alright?” Martin whispered. It felt wrong, the loud everyday sounds of the street. The birds, the wind, the everyday normal sounds. 

“I-I think I can walk now.” Jon said, avoiding the question. Martin carefully put him down. Jon was still holding his hand tightly. “Can we go home?”

“Yeah,” Martin said. He felt a flop in his stomach. Jon meant the Archives. He hated that that was home, as much as he loved the idea of it being theirs.

“Wait,” Martin stopped them and pulled off his jumper. “You look a mess. Your pants cover it, but that shirt--”

“Oh--R-right. Quite.” Jon tugged on the jumper. It was far too big for him, but covered the stains. He looked more on the side of homeless now than maniacal serial killer. They’d be able to get on the underground with fewer looks at least Martin was fairly sure he lost his wallet somewhere so they couldn’t hail a cab. 

Jon shrunk into the jumper one arm not even through the sleeve so that he was wearing it more as a poncho, the other firmly holding Martin’s hand. 

“I--you shouldn’t have--but I--but thank you--but you could have--”

“I would never leave you Jon. Never. Especially not to whatever that thing was.” 

Jon’s body pressed against his as they walked. Martin didn’t comment on the stray tears that slid down Jon’s nose. Only squeezed his hand reassuringly. 

All those spiders. Jon had looked gods and monsters straight in the eye, but Martin was sure this had been… this had been a deep and unsettling hurt. 

They didn’t say much on their way back. Jon didn’t even pull away once they reached the more crowded street corners. He was shy about public affection, but it seemed like none of it mattered right now. Martin was glad. He didn’t want Jon suffering for other people’s feelings. Maybe the people around them could sense it, or perhaps Jon’s eyes put them off. Either way no one commented on them and they reached the Magnus Institute without incident. 

He was waiting for them of course. Sitting on Melanie (Sasha’s) old desk smiling banally. 

“Ah, well done, Martin. Jon, how are--”

“Not now, Elias.” Jon cut him off tiredly. Jon still called him Elias so Martin did as well even though the memory of the eyeless man was still fresh in his mind. 

“Of course.” Elias bowed his head. His bland smile turned at the corners becoming a smirk. “I suppose you have earned it. When you’re done, I’ll be waiting.” 

He hopped off the desk putting a hand on Jon’s shoulder and squeezing as he passed them. 

“You did very well,” he said affectionately. 

It was all Martin could do not to rip Jon away from him. Elias let go and headed up the stairs. No doubt to his office to scheme. 

God, he was probably in on it. It wouldn’t surprise Martin at all if he was. The fact that he legitimately seemed to care about Jon while sending him into danger, or setting him up for pain burned hot at the back of Martin’s throat, but he couldn’t fight Magnus, not yet. 

For now he didn’t matter. Jon was what mattered. He led him to the little room he used to call his own so long ago. He expected Jon to droop down onto the bed, but he tugged Martin to the couch instead. 

Martin sat and Jon collapsed on him, head pillowed on his chest, bright beautiful eerie eyes closing. Untense and finally safe. 

Martin kissed him very softly on the top of his head. 

“I’m surprised you even found me,” Jon said faintly. “How did you find me?” 

“Tape recorder,” Martin answered. “You were reading a statement when they grabbed you. I heard--I heard you whisper something about spiders. Hilltop Road was the logical choice.” 

“Right.” Jon nodded against him. “That was clever.” 

It really wasn’t, but he didn’t want to argue when Jon was so delicate. 

“Are you hurting at all?” He asked instead.

“No,” Jon said, voice low. “No, now that I’m back here… I feel stronger. The wounds are gone.” 

He wanted to ask, but not now. Not when it was so fresh. Instead he slung an arm around Jon’s chest, holding him. Being solid for him. His wonderful long suffering Jon, who didn’t deserve any of this. 

Despite what Jon said, from the way he held himself Martin could tell he was still sore and stiff from hanging for who knows how long. 

“I must smell awful,” Jon suddenly realized. He looked down at himself the jumper covering up all the blood and sweat. “I should--I should shower, what time is it?” 

“Past nine I think.” Martin answered. “I’ll--if you’d like, I’ll help you.”

Jon didn’t like coddling--or rather he didn’t like being fussed over--and it wasn’t because he didn’t enjoy the care or company, but there was a quiet shame Martin didn’t understand yet. Jon struggled hard to talk about his own feelings and needs without panicking. It clashed a little bit with Martin’s own need to be helpful, but they were still learning each other, and both were patient. Jon was learning he could trust Martin with himself. That he didn’t need to be ashamed to share his hurts or wants. And Martin was learning it wasn’t rejection the times when Jon felt more secure by keeping to himself. 

Jon hesitated, then nodded. “I--I’d appreciate that.” 

The shower was small. Martin had often wondered at it before. Knowing more about Gertrude it made a lot of sense, the little room with the bed, the tiny shower installed next to the bathroom. It had never been comfortable for him. He was too tall for it and he had to crouch to get his hair properly wet. Jon was just the right height though. 

Carefully, Jon took off Martin’s jumper and diligently folded it, putting it to the side. The rest of his clothes he pulled off and left to the floor, the stained tatters were ruined anyway. Martin went to the suitcase of clothes Jon had accumulated, but never unpacked and found a soft shirt and sweatpants. He came back in, setting them on top of his jumper with a towel ready. 

Fully naked it was easy to see all the scars. The worms, the cuts, the burn--Martin hadn’t known that there were scars from the explosion that weren’t listed in the tapes Martin had listened to over and over again when Jon was in the coma. 

“I’m a mess,” Jon noted wryly, noticing Martin’s eyes. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t help you,” Martin whispered, ashamed. All those hurts that Jon went through and he hadn’t--

Jon shook his head.

“You would have. Not reaching out was my mistake, not yours,” Jon said reassuringly. He cleared his throat, flustered with a sudden awareness of his own nakedness.

Martin blushed and turned. He listened as Jon turned on the shower, tested the water and stepped into it. He groaned gratefully at the hot water on his skin. The shower curtain slid and Martin turned back again. 

“Should I leave?” He asked.

“Ye--no. I mean--as long as you’re not uncomfortable I mean… I--I wouldn’t mind you staying.” 

“Alright, I’ll stay,” Martin smiled softly to himself. 

They didn’t talk, Martin listened to the water falling on the tile, closing his eyes. He wouldn’t make Jon talk about any of it. Not until he wanted to, but it hurt not being able to take all the pain and just--fix it. Hearing the terror and familiarity of Jon’s voice when the thing came for him. Was it the Leitner? Mr. Spider? Jon said it wasn’t Annabelle, but it was Annabelle’s base of operations as far as they understood it, but then the tape had been on Martin’s desk, not in Jon’s office, in plain sight. Martin was supposed to go and save him. Why the web wanted that was beyond him. Why the web would force the situation in the first place didn’t make any sense, but then, maybe there were webs upon webs. All the spiders couldn’t be aiming at all the same goals. Jon was important to Annabelle’s plans somehow, but that didn’t mean every spider creature had similar machinations. 

He’d save the thought for later. He wished Basira and Daisy were here. They had been better at protecting Jon, as much as he hated admitting it. They were still missing though, and Elias would only smile and say Basira was on business and not to worry about it. Jon’s eyes went all distant when he told them that. Maybe Jon already knew where they were.

Martin felt ashamed at his last conversation with Daisy. She had looked after Jon and Martin had been unkind.

The shower stopped. Martin grabbed the towel and passed it over the showercurtain with ease. 

“Better?”

“Much.” Jon came out wrapped in a towel. He had shaved for the first time in weeks, his hair, so long now, fell around his shoulders in lank, damp, curls; silver strands shining in dark brown. Luminous eyes reflected the yellow light of the room.

He was striking, even beautiful, but Martin didn’t say that knowing it would embarrass him, and knowing he’d deny it. Maybe it wasn’t true to anyone else, but was true to Martin.

Besides, Martin didn’t want Jon to think that was what he wanted from him. He knew that wasn’t something Jon wanted to give, and it wasn’t what Martin was actually interested in. It was Jon’s heart he was so taken with, not his body. 

He stepped out, letting Jon dry and change. He went over to the tiny room and found all the pillows, blankets, and sleeping bags they had accumulated, then pulled out the mattress off the small bed that wasn’t really big enough for the two of them. He made a nest on the floor adding some of the couch cushions. 

Jon stepped out of the washroom. He was idly trying to run a comb through his tangled hair. He had put Martin’s jumper back on over his own clean clothes. Martin felt warmth in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to protest that it was dusty from the house, but Jon seemed so comfortable in it. 

“Here,” Martin patted the space on the floor beside him. Jon came down, groaning softly at the effort. “Let me.” Martin took the comb and carefully went to work untangling and smoothing out Jon’s hair. Jon sighed softly.

“I ah… thank you,” Jon said quietly. “I--you make me… I feel safe--with you. And I--today was… bad. Today was bad.” 

Martin squeezed his shoulder and continued gently combing. After awhile Jon shifted so that they were chest to chest and wrapped his arms around Martin. Martin hugged him hard. Holding him safe in his arms.

"Thank you," Jon whispered.

Martin only stopped hugging when he felt Jon slumped and startled. 

“Sorry I--” He yawned. 

“You’re falling asleep. That’s good. You need to rest.”

“I should--I should work.” 

There really wasn’t any work to do anymore, but it was a comfortable staple for Jon when he wanted to forget or ignore something like a giant spider kidnapping him. 

“You should sleep,” Martin gently insisted. Jon pressed against him. “I’ll be here with you.” 

“That’s… I’m not sure…”

“I’m here,” Martin repeated. “You can sleep. I’ll keep watch. You can close your eyes.”

“Close my eyes…” Jon repeated wistfully. He exhaled softly and gave in adjusting himself to a more comfortable position and pillowing himself against Martin. Martin gently stroked his still damp hair. He allowed his fingers to tremble, now that Jon was finally asleep. 

He was safe. He was safe. 

He gently kissed Jon’s forehead. 

“Sleep well.” 


End file.
